


these days get heavy (goodnight)

by KelseyO



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, Post 3x04, in which lexa comes back because OBVIOUSLY, let's talk about how delicious that goodnight scene was, thirstiest goddamn ship on tv
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-14
Updated: 2016-02-14
Packaged: 2018-05-20 08:15:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5998413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KelseyO/pseuds/KelseyO
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Today you made me realize something that has never been… cannot be, allowed as commander.” Her own eyes are just barely glistening in the candlelight; she reluctantly releases Clarke’s hand and gets to her feet, then goes to the window, keeping her back to Clarke.</p><p>The room is silent as Clarke processes the words, anticipates what might be coming next. After a long moment she rises and approaches Lexa, each step slow and careful, until she’s standing beside her; neither of them speaks.</p><p>Finally the words fall from Lexa’s lips, delicate and dangerous, one by one.</p><p>“I do not want death to take me away from you.”</p><p>(Lexa decides it might be nice to talk about something other than her death, then talks about it anyways. Takes place directly after 3x04. Title from "Second Chances" by Imagine Dragons.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	these days get heavy (goodnight)

**Author's Note:**

> I had zero control over this fic. I'm so sorry.

The solid _thunk_ of the door sounds so wrong when it’s shutting Lexa out instead of keeping her inside.

Clarke reaches for the handle before she’s even figured out what to say, what she could _possibly_ say, pulls and takes a deep breath and hopes for the best, but the air rushes out of her lungs again when she finds herself face-to-face with Lexa’s knuckles, poised in midair and ready to knock.

Lexa drops her hand to her side and wets her lips. “I think it might be nice,” she says quietly, “to talk about something other than my death.”

“I’m sure you’ll find some way to work it in,” Clarke replies, the corner of her mouth twitching for the second time tonight, and she steps aside to let Lexa back through.

Lexa nods once and re-enters the room, but now she’s tense, not looking at Clarke, not sitting down, rooted to the spot as she fidgets with her bandage.

“Lexa?” Clarke crosses her arms over her chest, suddenly feeling like she should prepare for the worst. “What is it?”

“I don’t…” Lexa sighs; she’s frustrated. “I’m unsure of how to say this.”

Clarke walks past her to sit at the foot of the bed, off-center, giving Lexa silent permission to join her if she wants. “Brutal honesty usually works fine.”

Lexa shakes her head. “In war and politics, yes. But in personal matters…” She glances at Clarke for a beat and finally sits beside her, hands resting useless in her lap. “I’ve spent my whole life preparing to die for others. For my people, and for our people; for Costia.” Her wounded hand clenches into a fist at the name.

“I thought we weren’t talking about—”

“I’m not prepared to die for you,” Lexa blurts, staring down hard at her lap.

Clarke is frozen, eyes burning with tears, and she begins to move away, but Lexa grips her hand gently to keep her in place, looks at her now.

“I will never revoke my fealty, Clarke; no matter what the cost, I will keep you safe.”

Clarke searches Lexa’s eyes. “I don’t understand.”

Lexa hasn’t let go. “Today you made me realize something that has never been… _cannot_ be, allowed as commander.” Her own eyes are just barely glistening in the candlelight; she reluctantly releases Clarke’s hand and gets to her feet, then goes to the window, keeping her back to Clarke.

The room is silent as Clarke processes the words, anticipates what might be coming next. After a long moment she rises and approaches Lexa, each step slow and careful, until she’s standing beside her; neither of them speaks.

Finally the words fall from Lexa’s lips, delicate and dangerous, one by one.

“I do not want death to take me away from you.”

Clarke stares at Lexa and her own guarded expression begins to crumble. She swallows hard. “Lexa,” she manages, “I don’t… I _can’t_ …” Her voice falters and she shakes her head. “What you did at Mount Weather—swearing fealty doesn’t erase that.” The tears are back and there’s a new lump in her throat. “You’ve given me every reason to trust you, and I’m trying. I want—” She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “I wish this were easier. I want it to be.” Shaking her head again, she turns her entire body to face Lexa. “You have no idea how much I…”

Lexa’s eyes are bright and intense, Clarke’s equally so as they look her up and down, torn between hitting Lexa in a million different places or maybe just touching her instead.

The decision is made for her when Lexa slowly takes Clarke’s hand into her own—one, then both—brings it to her lips, then presses them to the back of her palm as if it were the most precious act known to humanity.

A tear falls down Clarke’s cheek and she shifts her hand in Lexa’s grip, lifting it to cup Lexa’s jaw, feels the muscle flex beneath her fingertips. Lexa’s leaning into the contact just a little, and her lips part when Clarke’s thumb brushes lightly over her healing cut. She can feel Lexa’s hot puffs of breath and she’s sure her lungs are working at a similar unsteady pace, and she doesn’t even realize she’s leaning closer until their mouths are pressed together.

Her eyes squeeze shut and when she pulls away and opens them again everything is blurry, and a sob escapes from somewhere in the back of her throat before she can even begin to explain what she just did or why.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” she chokes out. “That was—”

“Clarke. It’s okay.” Lexa’s gaze is calm.

She nods a little, takes another deep breath. “I can’t,” Clarke says quietly. “Not yet.”

“I need nothing from you, Clarke. You’re safe, and that is enough.”

“I’m safe because of you.”

Lexa takes a single step closer. “You’re _safe_ ,” she repeats, reaching out to grip Clarke’s shoulder.

Clarke’s eyelids droop closed briefly and her head tilts toward Lexa's hand. “Do you think you could…?”

“Anything.”

She doesn’t get around to finishing her question, just staggers forward to close the remaining distance between them and tucks her chin against Lexa’s collarbone, sighing in relief when strong, careful arms wrap around her and hold her tightly. Clarke closes her eyes and lets herself hug Lexa back, breathes like she’s spent too long deprived of oxygen.

Lexa doesn’t let go until Clarke does, and as they separate she presses the softest kiss to Clarke’s forehead.

“Stay,” Clarke breathes when Lexa pulls back, her voice heavy with fatigue. “Just for tonight.”

Lexa nods once. “Of course. Whatever you want.”

“What I want,” she says pointedly, “is to talk about something other than your death.” She manages a small smile.

Lexa mirrors it instantly, playfully. “Is that what’s best for your people?”

“No,” Clarke replies, her tone serious, “for _our_ people.”

Lexa offers her hand, palm-up, and Clarke takes it.


End file.
